


One Night of Armistice

by simplyprologue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Post Episode: s03e11 Nevermore, Reunion Sex, Soon To Be Jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kane doesn't make it all the way to Polis. The delinquents save Abby from the chip inside her head. Then, there's the brief respite after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night of Armistice

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** If you follow me on tumblr, there's a high chance you've seen this already. I'm just trying to move over some of my longer prompt fills over here so they're archived. Original post is [here](http://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com/post/142551175204).

“We can’t bring her with us. We’re a moving target, and regardless – as much as we might need a doctor in Polis, she won’t be able to protect herself from Ontari’s warriors.” Clarke’s brows are clenched into a firm line as she marches purposefully through the woods. “And I won’t let what happened at Mount Weather repeat itself.”

Kane nods, gripping the straps of his backpack. “Where are we going?”

To Abby, is the simple answer. But the team of delinquents preparing to infiltrate ALIE-controlled Polis have found a hiding place to keep them safe from the chipped soldiers of light wandering the forest looking for more people to convert.  _Both of you will be needed in Arkadia,_ Clarke said,  _once we destroy her network. We need you close by to take control again._

Expertly bracing herself against a mossy slope, Clarke slides down into a hidden divot in the landscape.

“This was Lincoln’s cave,” she says, eyes wavering over the entrance. “Octavia brought us here. Unless someone knows where they’re looking, they won’t be able to find it.”

Nodding again – he’s found that it’s useless to go against Clarke or Abby once they’ve made up their minds, and regardless Clarke has always made sound decisions as a leader despite the other complications tangled up with the heavy weight of duty crashing down on her head – he goes to step through the small opening into the dwelling. Then, he notices Clarke stepping back, a pained expression on her face.

“What?”

“I can’t go in.” Licking her lips, she looks down at the ground, her breathy shaking and uneven. “I won’t be able to leave to go – do what we have to do.”

He finds himself without a platitude on his tongue. Clarke isn’t a child, and what once was tender is now violent. What is left of the child exists only in Abby’s presence.

“Your mom isn’t gonna try to stop you,” he tries.

“It’s not – it’s not that.” Still looking to the ground, she shakes her head. “If I go in… if I go in there and she’s my mother, and I don’t have to be Wanheda, then I won’t leave and I won’t be able to do what it is I have to do to save us. When this is all over – tell her this time I’m coming back.”

“She loves you, Clarke. No matter what.”

It’s a universal constant. Abigail Griffin will always love her daughter. It’s comforting to him, in a way, to know that there will always be such love in the world. That Abby will always love Clarke to the point of self-consumption, and the Clarke will always love Abby to the point of destruction.

She swallows hard, looking up at him.

“She loves you too,” she says, her gaze intent and immutable. “That’s why I need you here. So I can leave her. You won’t let anything happen to her.”

Because they both already did.

“I promise,” he says, reaching out to clasp her arm. He flinches when, instead, Clarke wraps both of her arms around him, pulling him close. With a soft, whistling exhale he hugs her tightly. Then, thinking of what Abby would do, presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Then, saying nothing else, she pushes herself away from him, and climbs back up to head back towards the main path. Kane watches her until she’s out of sight. Then, he ducks his head and slides through the narrow opening to what was once Lincoln’s home.

To find Abby pointing a gun at him. “Oh my god, Marcus—” She drops the gun, relief washing over her face. “Thank god.”

At the same time—

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice frantic.

“I’m fine,” they chorus together, rushing towards each other. Abby, gingerly climbing up off the bed of furs on the floor, and Kane, dropping his pack and weapon in time to keep her from getting all the way up.

“You’re okay,” he exhales.

The fear that began to simmer, slowing bubbling into a boil in the pit of his stomach when a distraught Clarke told him that Abby had been forced to take one of Thelonious’ keys finally calms. He knows that there is a healing incision on the back of her neck, knows that her emotions and memories are still not completely under her control, knows that she isn’t quite steady yet, will be off-balance until her synaptic response reaches equilibrium

He knows all of this, but does not expect that her immediate reaction to his presence will be to launch herself at him, crashing her mouth against his.

“Abby?” he murmurs against her lips.

Hands on his shoulders, she pulls back to look at his face hungrily.

“God, I love you.”

He deliberately doesn’t notice the lack of a wedding band around her finger, and the absence of Jake’s around her neck. Sometime he’ll ask her about why she’s take them off, ask if she’s given them to Clarke or shut them away or if ALIE made her forget her dead husband to the point where the circle of metal no longer held any meaning for her – he’ll ask, but not now.

She’s okay now. He’s okay now.

Marcus doesn’t know how many more of these moments they’ll get.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

He wonders if part of his promise to Clarke is telling Abby that, remind her that she is loved, and deeply. That in the absence of her daughter and all the others she has come to call her children, she will always be loved.

Her eyes flutter closed. Clenching her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, she pulls their foreheads together. “Oh god, Marcus.”

A small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he leans forward to nip at her lower lip.

“I love you,” he says again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Moaning, she tugs at his hair, and their mouths meet. Her tongue slides into his mouth, meeting his. It’s a hot kiss, but sweet and full of longing. Eyes slitted open, Marcus takes in their immediate surroundings – there are candles lit on the tables in the cave, and a bookshelf. Hands cupping her hip and waist, he lowers her back down onto the bed. He doesn’t intend to take it further than kissing, his hands exploring every inch of her back and waist and stomach, but Abby has other ideas.

“Please,” she whispers, looking up at him. Her hair is splayed over the pillow, and she hooks her leg around the back of his knee. “Marcus. I want to. I need to. Please. After she’s been in my head, I need to – I need to feel real again.”

“Abby?”

The pads of her toes coast up and down his calf. “You make me feel real.”

Her face is open and vulnerable; Marcus feels guilty at his relief that he didn’t have to endure seeing Abby with one of the lemniscate chips, mourns that Clarke was the one tasked with bringing her mother back from the City of Light, is distraught that he was the one who left her in the first place. Slowly, her eyes hem with tears. Then, so do his.

“I love you,” he says again. He’s not sure if there’s anything else he  _can_ say. “You’re safe now.”

“Please.”

He doesn’t know what she expects him to do – to kiss her and paw at her, sink himself into her immediately – but she seems surprised when he slides down her body, positioning himself between her legs. Her jeans come off easily; her body is supple and lithe, bending and eager. She lifts her hips to accommodate him as he pulls down her jeans and briefs – she pulls off her shirt by her own accord, tossing it to the side.

If he stopped and took stock of the moment, he knows he’d be overwhelmed. So he doesn’t stop.

Bending his mouth to the joining of her legs, he tastes her.

Eager himself, he scoops the backs of her thighs with his hands, pulling her closer. She tastes like arousal, like intention, like the steadfast bloom of spring. He eats her out with the same intention, the same promise of warmth and heat and damp. The flat of his tongue rolls over her clit, and she moans. Looking up at her over the flat of her body, he suckles on the swollen nub of flesh, sees a blush flare on her breasts and sternum.

He’ll taste her nipples next, he thinks. But only after this first heady climax.

There is so much to learn in this initial rush, and Marcus takes his time, using lips and tongue, teeth and beard to escalate Abby into pleasure. By the time she orgasms, her legs are shaking. There’s a rush of wetness against his face, and he drinks her down as her muscles flutter against his mouth.

“Marcus, please,” she repeats over and over, like a mantra.

She’s ready for him almost immediately, surprising him. Her fingers curl into his shoulder blades, pulling him up to settle in the cradle of her legs.

“Hi,” he says, aware that his face is glistening.

Her pupils shrink, then dilate again. “Hi.”

Taking his erection in her hand, she positions him at her entrance. Her grip is firm and steady, exactly what a doctor’s hands should be. He feels himself throbbing against her fingers and he thinks –  _Yes. This is real. This is who we are._

He slides into her, and feels peace.

Then, he works to give it back to her as well.

For tonight, they’re safe. Tomorrow holds no promises, but he trusts in Clarke. And the day after that, he knows nothing of what he and Abby will have to do to put their people back together again. But he’s stolen this moment from the madness, and intends to toss it upon its head, and give them both a bit of rest and respite.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
